Knee-slapper
by capes are cool
Summary: If Harleen Quinzel is going to be honest, the first time he left her for dead was not surprising. But Harley Quinn is not as sensible and is effectively crushed. (AU-ish.)


_**(1) Title- **_Knee-slapper

_**Summary- **_If Harleen Quinzel is going to be honest, the first time he left her for dead was not surprising. But Harley Quinn is not as sensible and is effectively crushed.

_**Genre- **_Drama, angst, and irony.

_**Characters- **_Harley Quinn, Joker, Batman, mentions of Robin, and Suicide Squad.

_000_

If Harleen Quinzel is going to be honest, the first time he left her for dead was not surprising. But Harley Quinn is not as sensible and is effectively crushed.

Though she tries to be more of Harleen and less Harley, but that just doesn't work. (Harley always wins.)

Bats likes to describe her as a masochist and Harleen supposes she is but Harley refuses to believe that. "My puddin' loves me!" She would screech in the back of the cop car, struggling against her handcuffs and partly trying to convince the cop of Joker's reciprocated affection. (But mostly trying to convince herself.)

She's still screeching when she's thrown in a cell at Arkham. Though this time, it's not her usual cell. (She knows because the wall is not filled with crude drawings of her Mistah J.)

"Hey!" She calls to a guard on patrol. "What happened to my cell?" The guard turns, a cruel smirk crossing his features. Harleen slightly recoils but Harley stands tall. (She supposes that's one of the few things Harleen likes about Harley.)

"Well Cupcake," The guard starts condescendingly and Harley snarls. "You're in the real looney bin now. It's a bit different from the norm." Harley spits on the glass that separates her from the guard and turns her back, flopping on her thin mattress.

She lays on the bed for a while, trying to figure out where she is. (She knows exactly where she is when she hears various screams and Zsasz's maniacal laughter.)

As the days go by all Harley can do and remember is eat and sleep.

And slowly, the dreams of Joker fade.

_000_

Four months after she breaks out of Arkham (With Ivy's help) she is helplessly ensnared again. He whispers a few sweet words (but never the words 'I love you.') and she's back as his Harley again.

They're at the hideout, which is just a motel room they had bought with Monopoly money. (Harley still remembers the cashier's terrified scream.)

She's not allowed to sleep in the same bed as him, so she grabs a pillow and makes herself comfortable of the filthy carpets. Harleen is disgusted, but Harley would do anything for the Joker.

The next day they leave and begin their next plot against Batman. (They way his eyes shine when he speaks of finally killing Batman makes Harley bitter.)

Harley is stuck with the job of civilian duty. This is where Batman hits first, so she's pretty much ready to be caught. (After all it was a repeating cycle.)

"Harleen," The baritone voice doesn't really startle her but his use of her real name does. Harley glances over at him, suddenly feeling thirty years older. (The little shot of adrenaline of being Joker has worn.)

She makes no moves to fight him. "Just cuff me." She holds her wrists out and he complies. This is just like last time.

"Harley," He uses her alias name this time. "Why don't you just stop?"

"I can't."

Her words are crisp and clear.

_000_

She's back in Arkham again, under a different circumstance.

Her new therapist gives her a sharp glance as she finishes reading the file. "You almost killed him you know." Harley merely grins; feeling like a weight has been lifted from her chest.

She leans forward, her chair scraping the linoleum floor. "Just blowin' off some steam Doc. Eddie had it coming." The woman frowns at her, scribbling on her notepad. "I used to be a therapist too." Harley says offhandedly.

The woman scribbles something else. "Top of my class," Harley reminisces. More scribbling ensues. "But that all changed. I found something so much more . . . fun." Harley didn't mind giving up any info to the therapist; she didn't really have anything to lose. (Nobody else bothered to listen to her anyway.)

"It's just so fulfilling." The therapist lifts a brow and is opening her mouth to say something before Harley interrupts. "Time's up Doc." Harley smiles as the guard signals her.

They're leading Harley out before she decides to speak again. "Oh, and, don't waste your time. I don't have borderline or psychopathic tendencies. I'm just a girl in love, doesn't that make everyone crazy?"

Harley is jerked out the door, but not before she catches the disgusted look on the woman's face.

She smiles.

_000_

She's on the Suicide Squad now.

It's strange that these near death missions don't provide the same rush of adrenaline that she gets when she is with Mistah J. (Although they also don't provide the same feeling of fear either.)

Harleen likes this new fearlessness but Harley feels like there is something missing.

That's also part of the reason she's been flirting with Deadshot. "Go run back to your clown freak."

Harley purses her painted lips. "Would if I could." She smirks. "But I suppose I could take a step down from my usual standards."

Harley only giggles when he points his rifle at her. She looks at him, toying with her mallet. "Touched a nerve, have I?" Leaning forward, she whispered. "I'm pretty good at that."

"What?" He growled. "Being annoying or being a failure?" Harley frowns, her fingers brushing over her bleached white skin on her arm.

"Both I guess." She says, her mood shifting back into happy-go-lucky. "What about you? You seem to do great with the second one." Her eyes narrow as he shifts his rifle back onto the target.

"Besides," He says off-handedly. "I have a no clown policy."

"Everybody sort of does." Harley says bitterly.

_000_

They're at Deadshot's funeral when she sees him again. (She knows because of the grins that plaster themselves onto the faces of the fallen guests.)

"Puddin'?" She calls, filling with hope. (Or fear. She can't really distinguish the two when she's with him.)

"Harley." His voice echoes and she gulps. He didn't call her Harls. "I thought you only loved me." He appears, his face scarred.

Her eyes flick between Deadshot's grave and Joker's face. "I-I do."

"Then why?" He growls, stepping closer. "You're just like all the other Harleys!" His growl grows to a screech.

"All the others?" Harley stumbles back.

Horror hits her as she realizes, _she is not the first._


End file.
